Yet another Legolas story
by Miss Frizz
Summary: Rated R for possible future chapters. This is a story of legolas' childhood, a remake of my other story, and how he got to be the warrior he is today. Mystery surrounds the knowledge that a new elf child is born yet none know who. Possible romance but not
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: Not mine. except any that is. Archive: I don't care. you can even put your name on it if you want to lower your writing standard to my pathetic scribblings. as long as you tell me what feedback you get from it. Authors note: I don't know elvish grammar or any thing so when you see elvish, all I've done is string keywords together from word lists so when it says for example in the third paragraph 'gwaewleas Edhel' It's meant to mean 'wind of the newborn elf' but it literally translates as 'wind child elf' because I couldn't be bothered spending hours figuring out the right way to say it. I'm learning though. just don't flame me for it all you die hard elvish speaking fanatics. But at least it looks elvish enough unlike some attempts I've seen around here ;) Oh and another thing. My idea of the elvish life cycle is that the first say 25 years of their lives they age as a human and then they stop and stay that way until they're slain in battle or sail for the west. They can stop at different ages and either they choose when or the just do stop. Elrond in the movieverse looks as though he stopped at 35 or more while Arwen looks like 20 so don't ask me how that works. Anyone who knows please tell me! Please Review. I like any and all comments.even flames, I have a thick skin I can handle it. Bring the flamers on. I'll take you all on!! Just keep in mind that this is my first fic on here! Shameless Plug: Like go read ditzcat !!! her fics are like way cool like.  
  
The little elf danced over the rocks in blissful ignorance, his wooden knives thrusting and parrying to an unseen force in a graceful ballet of skill and precision. He was the youngest of his kin, being only 9 years old but showed talent equal to the other elflings, decades older.  
  
For Elves, in these times bear children few and far between, as some already leave for the Gray Havens. Though when an elf child is born into this world there are few even in the mortal realm that do not feel the awakening. For the few brief moments after the birthing the whole world stills and the child's first squalls echoes dimly through all minds open to the purity and innocence that is the Elves. They are glad that another of the first born has graced the earth with his fair presence.  
  
It was on this day that the little elf on the rock, whose own gwaewleas Edhel was but a few years ago, faltered in his imaginary onslaught of attacks, something that hadn't happened for a long time. But instead of cursing and starting his training again he stood tall.. well as tall as he could for his age, and felt the air whip around him with a newfound energy, his golden hair flicking wildly around his head. He breathed deep of the air and felt the change in balance as another elfling entered the world of Arda. 'At last' he thought as he realized that he was no longer the baby of his race.  
  
The Elfling raced the few miles home through the thick verdant trees that was his, Mirkwood Forest. His father and brothers disapproved of his tendencies to run off into the forest when evil had dwelled there not so long ago. But his mother, Lómelindë, encouraged his independence allowing him to train deep within the folds of the forest, in his secret private places away from the hustle of the palace. He was a Prince but fortunately did not need to train in the matters relevant to running a kingdom, for he had three older and more studious brothers, learning these things that mattered little to him.  
  
He loved them all dearly though no matter how hard he tried he could not understand what drew them to the courtly duties as preferance over the immense satisfaction that he gained when perfecting a battle move or learning a new trick with the bow. He started using the bow but two years ago, and had been progressing at a less than average pace. Elflings did not usually start archery training until they were older for the plain fact that they did not have the power nor the size to handle a bow, despite their elvish advantages. But to his insistence he had a bow modified for his specifications, which he proudly accepted from his parents on his 6th birthday.  
  
As he approached the palace he felt his mood shift from easy and quick to patient and thoughtful as he composed himself for the behaviour that was expected of him as a prince. He entered the palace through the back door, taking the time to quickly change his dirt stained clothes to avoid his fathers scornful gaze.  
  
When he reached the royal court room, a mahogany resplendant hall, warm, open and inviting, he did not slow to knock or announce his presence. His father sat upon a marvelous yet simple throne that was no higher than any other chair in the room, for none in his council were considered below him. Thranduil looked down with a knowing look. "Yes Legolas, The Eldar has been blessed by Valar with a new addition" he said answering his unsaid question.  
  
"Who is it?" he asked for there was no Elves known to him that were expecting. "I do not know" said Thranduil, his eyebrows knotted with concern "the gwaewlaes Edhel was to far away for me to sense the details. Let it distract you not little one. I do believe that you should have started archery practice half an hour ago"  
  
Legolas' eyes burned with indignation. " Ada I am no longer little!" he said firmly. "Tell that to you're archery instructor Merimacu. He has told me that you are having trouble with the bow Legolas. Even at your age an Elf should not have trouble with it. Is there something wrong?" "Nay Ada, Perhaps I should just practice more" Legolas said offhandedly. "Son, I thought you enjoyed archery, you begged me to get that bow for you four years ago." "Yes I know but it seems that the harder I try the less I hit the target" Legolas replied. "Then don't try, an archer must be completely at ease with ones self, relaxed and limber, ready for anything. You must let your instincts guide you and point you in the right direction. The bow will do the rest" "You sound like Merimacu" said Legolas as he turned and walked out of the room. Thranduil just smiled, shook his head and returned to his kingly duties.  
  
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As the fair haired Elfling neared the firing range with his bow, he saw the faintly flushed face of an angry instructor. Merimacu, however, kept his composure steady and merely motioned for Legolas to take his place at the shooting stands. The other darker and taller elf children straightened their looming bodies as the prince drew near, smirking at him in unrestrained derision.  
  
"Sorry Lord Merimacu" said Legolas, casting his eyes breifly downwards in a sign of apology and submission. He knew Merimacu would make him pay for it later. He was not a bad or cruel teacher, just a strict one who couldn't stand getting less than 100% from each of his pupils, no matter their size or age.  
  
Legolas stood next to Taranca, the next youngest elf besides himself and the least threatening, He did not like to show his fears so plainly, yet it was obvious to anyone to the reason of his position. He pulled his bow off his back mount and tried to pull an arrow from his small quiver to ready himself as the other little archers already were. To his dismay, several arrows pulled out as they were caught on the first one, and fell to the forest floor, narrowly missing his foot.  
  
Now several sniggers issued from the other children and Legolas watched in dismay as Merimacu advanced on him with an extreme look of annoyance written across his face. "Legolas" he said exasperatedly. "Yes My Lord" "Have I or have I not told you to pack your arrows neatly every morning?" "Yes My Lord" Legolas could feel his face burning as the teacher scolded him in front of the other children. He at first had thought it was a good thing that his father had found finally a good archery teacher that would not treat Legolas as his prince, but as a pupil. Usually the teachers were too frightened of his royal status to tell him off or criticize his performance. Not Merimacu. "Legolas how many times do I have to tell you? You just can't seem to get it. You need to try harder, practise more to keep up with the rest of the class. Your accuracy is improving so slowly that I fear it should soon stop and reverse in the opposite direction. I may have to tell the King to postpone your training till you are able to string and use a proper Mirkwood bow unless you pick up your form" Legolas was blushing bright red now at being humiliated in front of all the other elflings, and he felt a lump form inside his throat. Inside his tumultuous mind he struggled to hold back tears, though the emotion shown in his eyes told of the internal conflict to the entire audience. One of the children furthest from him whispered to his companion "watch out he's going to bawl" which was easily picked up by Legolas' better than average hearing. Merimacu showed no sign that he had heard the comment as he looked on the undersized elf child. "Legolas, move to the far side of the field, away from the rest of the class and I want to see at least ten bullseye holes in that target before you return to the palace. And no fudging them!" He said as Legolas quickly retrieved the fallen arrows and turned from his supposed class 'mates', walking quickly and efficiently to the far side of the field. He composed his features on the way and lengthened his stride, drawing from within himself all the noble blood of his father. 'I am Thranduillion' he thought proudly 'none shall make me waver from courage'. Yet inside he was a quivering wreak, inside the words of the other students branded him deeply. He tried. He tried with all of his being, to be accepted, to be worthy of his position but even in it's entirety it was not enough, and Legolas did not know what to do.  
  
A few hours later and Legolas was still at the field, his arms screamed with pain as he pulled another arrow from his quiver and notched it on his bow. Before he pulled back he mentally checked his posture, stance and aim, of which he could find no fault so he weakly flexed his aching muscles and loosed the arrow. As with all the other arrows in the current round, it fell hopelessly to the ground a few feet in front of the target. Legolas winced as though he had been struck and grimly reached for another arrow, too stubborn or proud to end the useless pain filled cycle of failure until he reached the unattainable goal that would have been so easy for any normal elf child. 'But I'm not normal' he chided himself 'I am weak' he was convinced.  
  
His arrival had been one of surprise as the King and Queen of Mirkwood had not intended on having another child. It was not an unwelcome surprise however and the new born was accepted as any normal baby would have been, into a world of love and doting compassion towards the youngest and most adorable addition to the Mirkwood high family. However it was from his birth that they knew he was different. His body was smaller than any normal elvish baby, though did not lack strength and his eyes were a pale almost translucent green, rimmed in a dark band of emerald, that had never before been seen. His hair was pale and spun like molten gold in the moonlight, a complete opposite to the elves of the Mirkwood realm. During family meals he would stand out as a stark contrast to all that saw, with his three older brothers, dark and regal, able to command people with a look, much like his father Thranduil. His mother Lómelindë was also dark however her hair was laced with streaks of brilliant copper and auburn that scintillated in the breath of the stars. Her face was stern yet Legolas hardly ever saw it as such as his presence never failed to melt her composure. She was surely the most beautiful elf in all of Arda to Legolas though he was slightly biased. Legolas had a slightly effeminate and innocent look to him, more so than other elflings, that seemed to attract the other mother elves like bees to honey, and yet repel the elves of his own generation, as far as generations go with the elves.  
  
Right there and then, amongst the weaved target boards and the slowly darkening sky Legolas made a silent vow to himself. To never show his emotions like that again. He needed to be strong like his father and Mother or he would never succeed at archery or at life. He would practice until he was the greatest archer in Mirkwood.. 'no' he thought to himself as he felt his selfconfidence return as it was that morning in his sword play.the whole of Middle Earth. and the universe. He released yet another arrow and heard it thunk into the black bullseye, and almost broke his vow then and there as he restrained the urge to jump and Whoop for joy. "Ok Legolas, only 9 more left to go!" he said to himself, not afraid that anyone would here him as the class had left an hour and a half before, and Merimacu with them, having given up on the failing child.  
  
However Legolas' strength was already heavily taxed and drained from his small body and his spurt of enthusiasm was soon quenched with the inevitable realisation that he wasn't going to achieve the impossible that evening. Yet his will kept him going as arrow after arrow fell closer and closer to him, and further and further from the target.  
  
Wearily, in the twilight of dusk, he reached for the last arrow of that round and felt a restrictive hand prevent him from pulling it from his quiver. With half lidded eyes he turned to face this intruder and was met by the stern face of Merimacu. "Enough Legolas" he said coldly "You have been going for 5 hours now. I have been up to my flet, bathed, had dinner and evening council with your father, and have come to the field to do a little of my own practice in the peace of moonlight, only to watch you for the past ten minutes, continuously fail to even reach the target let alone hit a bullseye. It is obvious that you are tired and cannot possibly finish even this simple task tonight. I told you to quit this useless activity when class ended." Legolas did not remember Merimacu dismissing him, so oblivious to his surroundings and deep in thought was he. But even if he had he would not have stopped. Through his pride, dignity or otherwise, he would have continued.  
  
"I am no baby" he said indignantly, suddenly wide awake "I am Prince Legolas Thranduillion, Forth heir to the throne of Mirkwood and I shall not move from this location if it does not please me so" Merimacu was surprised at this sudden burst of command, he had never tried to pull anything over Merimacu using his status before, but he wasn't phased. "Legolas there is no point' he replied loosening his grip on the little Prince's hand. "Perhaps you should just wait until you are of proper age" "Nay" he said simply as he returned to his archery with renewed vigour. He shot the last arrow closer to the target than recent attempts and he smiled with satisfaction as his allowed his pride fuel him. He walked off to retrieve the arrows, some now slightly disheveled from their recent assault. Merimacu just shook his head in disbelief and, having now lost the mood to practice, returned to his flet to retire early.  
  
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	2. Uruviotewen's birthing

Disclaimer- well this chappie is almost all mine.except the parts that are tolkien.  
  
(same day in another part of M-E)  
  
Pain and blackness was all she knew. It filled her senses and clouded her every thoughts. Fire ran tracks up and down her body and centered on her middle area, as she felt the delicate flesh from her own insides grate and tear for the second time within a year. Though she felt no fear this time. This was supposed to happen.  
  
A slight pinprick of light revealed itself at the center of her vision as she felt her groggily senses come slowly into focus. She heard her own deep laboured breaths and felt the beads of hot sweat run down the sides of her forehead. The room she was in, though she was hardly aware of it, was dimly lit with the light of several low candles and the air was thick to breathe. A shadow hovered worriedly over her trembling form.  
  
Another intense wave of pain washed over her small, barely mature body and she felt the activity around the room intensify. Hushed words of doom and fate fell, amplifying the suffocating gloom of despair that hung off the suffering girl like the blankets that swaddled her. Her stomach felt as though it was imploding, with blind searing shots of agony, and with it her world seemed to follow as she fell once more into blissful unconsciousness.  
  
*Flashback* (9 months earlier)  
  
Uruviotewen means fiery maiden, and so the girl was rightfully named. Around her the deep verdant of the trees clashed magnificently with her copper bronze brilliant hair that fell in cascades down her creamy white back and her youthful emerald eyes reflected none of the aged wisdom that her race was know for. This fair beauty however was most likely her downfall.  
  
On this particular day, she had abandoned her studies early, in favour of the welcoming call of the trees. Her parents worried not of her seeming disregard for intellectual pursuits for she was sixteen and for the race of the elves, that is but the blink of an eye. She would have plenty of time in the future for learning and now she was free to enjoy the offerings of nature. Her childish imagination games were at this moment leading her on a quest, to make a bouquet of woodland wildflowers for her mother, though in her fantasy she would be presenting Eru with the grand tithe of the Eldar after a perilous adventure.  
  
At her hip she carried a small scythe made just the right size for flower picking as she walked aimlessly down a familiar path to the heart of the woodlands where the most lush and delicate blooms grew. Through the arcs of the trees she noted the path of Anar and placed it to be around two hours past the noon. There was no gate to the heart of the realm, it would serve to do nothing but mar the beauty of the place, as there was no chance that evil could reach this far within the protection of the wardens.  
  
She began climbing the closest hill to her secret place that she knew would take less than an hour to reach. Through the thick trees she climbed. Through brush and spiny bramble though none hindered the she elf. Every now and then she would stop to collect a handful of Nephrediels or other flowers and placed them gently in her pockets. Finally she reached her destination, a great looming boulder that seemed to defy the Earth by balancing miraculously on the pinnacle of the hill. She walked behind it, to a dark shadow at the back were she gingerly felt around for the foothold she knew was there. She then pushed off the ground and leapt high, willing her elven reflexes and strength to propel her to the top of the boulder, thinking of the wondrous sight that would meet her. This boulder was the highest point in the forest as far as she could tell and so from it you could see her entire village from above surrounded in the sunbathed canopies of olive coloured trees. And none but her knew about it. She thought it rather selfish to keep it to herself, but then the magic of the place would be ruined if she shared, she told herself.  
  
Her feet landed squarely on the top of the boulder, and what she saw was anything but magic.  
  
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(back to present)  
  
Again the haze cleared as the girl woke at the violent shaking of her shoulders. Vaguely she heard the others tell her to wake up and for some unfathomable reason to push. She knew she'd tried this already, though she knew not why. She did not want to try it again for with it she related intense unbearable pain and the feeling that her innards would split in two. She let her head loll from side to side not having the energy to keep it still. This time her vision did not clear, and she was glad for the simple reason that the recognition in her mind of the things she was seeing, people she knew, would only make her head throb more so than it already was if it were possible.  
  
She discerned, amongst the rest of her tortures, the faint pangs at her abdomen that signaled the beginning of a new wave of agony. She braced herself but not even her strong fiery spirit could prepare her against the barrage of assault that followed, and she fell into blackness.  
  
*Flashback*  
  
Uruviotewen's eyes widened at first with surprise and then with intense horror as her peaceful world came crashing down around her. The putrid creature turned towards her, surprise mirrored on his face until he came to realise the nature of his intruder. A sickening smile came across his face, as he stood tall from the crouching position he had been in, unable to believe his fortune. Uruviotewen thought quickly. She did not know how the Yrch had come to pass through the forest but the boulder was a good choice to hide and spy for any incoming wardens, though she was unaware as to why he had not seen her approach.  
  
'Yrch' she spat at him as she drew her small scythe and held it in front of her as her only defence. The orc in mocking slowness drew his own heavy weapon and Uruviotewen realised the hopelessness of the situation. She saw the damp appearance of the blade, recently used, and against elves she suspected. She hoped the orc would not perceive her for what she truly was, an extremely young elfling with negative amounts of training, even with the feeble flower picker that she now wielded. She tried to keep her composure as the two combatants locked eyes in a battle of wills, but from the sneer on the face of him, her fear was clearly showing. She realised that her only hope was to run and so as she stared down the hideous fallen creature of death, she readied her muscles for the pursuit that was to come.  
  
However she never got her chance as the orc, with one powerful sweep bore his immense sword down on her. She leaped to the side but not before the poisoned blade could pierce her shoulder with great force. As she fell she threw her scythe at the creature, hoping through luck it would happen across some vital part but it merely bounced off his armour and flew from the boulder. The orc was unfazed and efficiently covered the distance between them and grabbed her by her injured shoulder. He lifted her with ease and shoved his grimy face within an inch of her own forcing her to breath in the stinking wretch that emitted from his body. He dropped his weapon and with his now free hand, viciously seized her copper hair in one huge fist. His brought his face closer to hers until, repulsed by him she swung one thin leg towards his groin, she knew his most painful region.  
  
The orcs grip loosened and she tried to wriggle herself free, but he sensed her reaction and countered it by shoving her violently over the boulders edge. Twisting in the air she fell the short distance to the ground but was unable to land properly. Her weight, light though it was, crunched down on one ankle and she heard the sickening crack of a bone that had given way. Uruviotewen let out a cry and let herself slump on the grassy floor. Pain slashed its way up her sides and screamed in her head as she struggled to get up and limb away to a nearby tree where she could perhaps take refuge. The orc however had other ideas, and as a seasoned hunter had recovered extremely quickly from the weak and desperate attack. His face no longer wore the sneer it had before, but was filled with an ugly grimace of anger, furious that his little game had been spoiled. There would be no mercy now.  
  
Uruviotewen turned to face him, aware that escape was impossible, and determined to fight to her last breath. The fallen creature closed in and she could she his pointed ears, so similar to her own. She looked into his black eyes and saw what was to come. So full of lust and destructive want. He reached down and wrapped one hand around her soft throat.  
  
(back to present)  
  
Her vision cleared. the pain had dulled. She looked around the room and saw it through a blood red tinge. Nothing cluttered the tiny room save a small single candle, now burnt nearly to the knob. She felt the emotions of that day that had ruined her eternal life come flooding back and closed her eyes once again, not in pain, but in sorrow. She willed her tears away though failed which just served to remind her of her own weak will and dishonour.  
  
Soon the pillow was wet with them and her sobbing died down to a weak whimper. Noone interrupted her slumber.  
  
*flashback*  
  
Uruviotewen could no longer feel. Her body was numb from pain, grief and disgrace though she was vaguely aware of her changing surroundings. Elvish queries fell on deaf ears as she struggled to comprehend there meaning. Strong hands lifted her lifeless body and as her bruised eyes opened to small slits she could hear a commotion at the discovery that she was conscious.  
  
'What have you done Uru?' said one voice in dismay, that she soon recognized as her childhood friend, and warden of the forest Yulacarnil. 'Yul..' she had not the energy to say more.  
  
(back to present)  
  
Morning light streamed in the window and Uruviotewen could almost believe that the last 9 months were nothing but a vivid nightmare. She hoped beyond anything and everything that that was the case. Until a sudden presence woke her from her sleepless dreams, a woman elf dressed in nurse's robes who bore at arms length a seeming pile of rags. She shoved them at Uruviotewen and spat 'take the despicable creature and feel unfortunate it lives'. She left the room as quickly as she came and left Uruviotewen with her thoughts and the bundle of tattered rags that she knew harboured the cause of her grief. Though she did not share her family's war torn prejudice, being as young as she was, she could not bring herself to gaze at the child she held, borne out of hate and into a world of hate. What would become of them?  
  
A faint movement startled her and her eyes inadvertently ventured to the source. Her resolve instantly melted. The newborn, no larger than two palms long stared up at her with unnerving dark eyes and washed away any doubts the girl had of her love for her offspring. The fuzzy beginnings of hair showed the little girl (for that is what it was-a girl) was most likely going to be as red as her own, for which she was glad. Her skin was pink, and save from being a little pale from the difficult birthing, glowed with the iridescence that came with the elves hroa (spirit body). She was as far as the girl could tell, a perfectly healthy, normal elfling but those piercing black eyes reminded her of things better left forgotten. The child's mouth began moving in rapid movements and Uruviotewen instinctually moved it to suckle.  
  
Not having the energy to do much else, she sat and pondered on what she should call her child as was her right and responsibility to produce the amilesse (mother naming). She was completely naïve to the feelings of hatred and pity that directed towards her from the other elves, even though she was innocent enough. The child was evil and needed to be treated as such.  
  
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The next morning her father entered the room, his presence waking her from a sleep that had not come in an age. The baby sensing it's mothers discomfort began to wriggle and seek its breakfast.  
  
'Ada.?' she asked but the question died on her lips as she saw the look her once loving father had given her. She reached for the child and lifted her night shirt to feed it, unashamed in front of him. 'Va' he exclaimed with sudden emotion and violently pushed her shirt down refusing the child's food.(don't) 'Van' Uruviotewen replied obediently though her baby began to whimper. (I wont) She would not defy her father.  
  
He stood tall and looked down on his own offspring and felt ashamed to be the grand father of a creature of this nature, or father to the bearer of it. He did not understand his daughter's impartial attitude towards it. His voice froze cold as he spoke to Uruviotewen. 'Nuthamme amilesslya' he said as he made sure she knew the importance of what he was saying.(we prevent the mother naming) Himself and the select few of the council that had known of the pregnancy as Uruviotewen had been hidden from the public eye under the guise of emotional healing, had agreed that this was necessary for the well being of the elven village. Who knows what evils the child could conjure. To prevent the mother naming was to deprive the child of the mark of its mothers bond, and perhaps save Uruviotewen from sharing it's fate. His daughter's face crinkled in horror and she realised the impact of his words. He hated seeing her in pain but it had to be done. His face betrayed no emotion. 'I contumohin essina Yavumea' (the enemies child will be named Yavumea(fruit of evil)) 'La' Uruviotewen screamed though she did not know where she gained the energy. (no) She pleaded with her unyielding father all that day and all the next but the declaration had already been made. What was to become of the babe Uruviotewen could not glean, but she knew she would not let them take her child from her no matter it's parentage.  
  
The day they tried was the first day Uruviotewen had truly recovered. After returning from a bath she had found her flet oddly quiet. She ran in desperate abandonment once she knew what was missing, straight to her father's study, where one reluctant warden was holding the screaming child out to some human trader's while her father handed them some coins. They looked startled at the hatred these elves exhibited towards the bawling babe that they now forcibly paid them to take. Their surprise thriced once they saw a disheveled elfmaiden run into the hall. 'La Nutha' she cried.(no, stop) Her father turned angrily towards her, and the ferocity of the elvish words spoken between them made the humans wince in fear. Again she pleaded with him but he did not waver.  
  
Uruviotewen felt her love for her own people die within her as he showed her the spite haboured within for a being less fortunate in birth than himself. She did not wish to be like this, outwardly a kind spirit seen by the races of middle earth as creatures of grace and love and yet inwardly so sure of their own superiority as to wish others into a life of misery. She would rather follow her child with the humans than live with the notion that she had allowed her child to be pawned off to another race and she watched her father hand over a few more coins. He turned to his daughter, now fiercely clutching her child, with a look of seething hatred burning in his eyes. She could not bring herself to remember the memories of the same elf teaching her to climb her first tree, how to send out soothing thoughts to the trees to lend their sturdy branches, the same elf that caught her when she fell. She would never feel that way again.  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted. 'Nuthamme qualmelya ar uaqual-hinlya. Envinyata nosslya aista ar auta, raukocolindo.' (We prevented you and your incomplete child's death. Renew your family's honour and leave, demon bearer) At first Uruviotewen could not believe the poison that dripped from her fathers words, and she was so stunned she didn't move. She stared into his eyes looking for any last trace of the father she once knew, but he took it as defiance and became enraged. 'Elya lacuinanme.sin heca!' (you are no longer alive to us. now leave!) His parting words echoed through her mind as she watched him turn his back on her and leave. She wasted no time in her own departure, and none came to say goodbye.  
  
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TBC  
  
A/N: Ha, I know that this portrayal of the elves is rather quite unusual but hey, no race is totally perfect. Except Orlando Bloom of which there should be an entire race of.(hands out Orlies by the hand full. One for you five for me..) Orlies for everyone. By the way this will Not I repeat will NOT turn into an OC legomance. I hope. nar seriously. I cannot write romance. And clancy Thankyou!! My single and only reviewer for chapter one was my best friend from school who coincidentally happened across my fanfic. isn't that weird. And shame on you who don't review! Hey that rhymes! And also sorry for my extremely bad elvish (see also apologies at top of chap ) And incase you didn't catch on, the gweawleas Edhel or wind of the new born elf from chap 1 was the birth of Yavumea in chap 2. Please tell me if any thing isn't making sense!  
  
P.S this is the second loading because for some reason the first loading didn't contain all the translations! 


	3. Legolas' Colt

Disclaimer- Yadda Yadda not mine.  
  
A/N- Please review! I mean any thing. It can say any thing. Even flamers will keep me going on another chapter. I was super dissappointed that my first two chapters only got a couple of reviews when another story I posted with only 500 words got 5 in one day. If there's something wrong with it TELL ME!!  
  
Merimacu woke early the next morning, just before the sun rose, to catch up on the archery practice he had missed the day before. None other was yet up as the elves of Mirkwood loved the evening best and some did not wake for many hours after sunrise. They usually, however, compensated for this by working long into the evening, a habit that Merimacu had yet to adapt to since his move from Lothlorien.  
  
He wandered the halls, taking his time in the peaceful silence of the morn, and breathed deep as the first rays of sunlight penetrated the thick canopy of trees above Mirkwood's palace. Today would be a fine day. His thoughts briefly turned to Legolas and his stubborn pride. He truly did not understand what he was holding back. He appeared to have the same strength as the other elflings and yet could not gain the same range as them. There was something missing. From what he heard from his other teachers, his swordsmanship was equal, if not better than the other elves so he knew it was not a physical thing that held him back. Merimacu shook his head at the puzzling prince and returned his thought's to more pleasant things, such as his recent betrothal to one of the Mirkwood Wardens sisters, Tiriniel. His step instantly lightened as he remembered the day he'd asked her to spend the rest of her eternal life with him. He began to hum a quiet tune, most likely one of the many love tunes of Luthien and Beren but at that moment, in blissful thoughts, its origin eluded him.  
  
With the next corner and he was there, quicker than he thought, and he opened the door to the outside of the palace and into the stables. The horses rose their heads in greeting and Merimacu sent them a good morning thought in reply. Through the stables and onto the archery field he travelled and was momentarily blinded by the morning sun that streamed down on him, now unhindered by the trees on the field.  
  
What he saw surprised him for when his vision cleared he spied a small olive mound at the far end of the field, which, as he moved closer, he realised was adorned by unmistakable golden yellow hair. 'Legolas' he muttered and feared the worst. He ran to the still body and sighed with relief as he realised that he was breathing. He knelt down, to inspect Legolas closer and almost laughed when he found that Legolas was merely asleep. 'Young ones these days, can sleep anywhere!' he thought. He'd often heard stories of Legolas, against his fathers pleas, going into the forest to play and fallen asleep there. Often only to be woken by his brothers hours later who were sent out to find him.  
  
He turned the child over, and noted the dark circles under his eyes. "How long did he practise before he succumbed to exhaustion' Merimacu pondered as he assessed the prince. His face, aside from the dark circles remained flawless and hansome as ever, but his eyes were drawn to the elflings hands. His left hand palm was worn bare from his grip on the bow shaft and two fingers on his right hand were bloodied and raw from the bow string. Merimacu noticed that the injury on his fingers was made over several hard callouses and scars that hadn't been given proper time to mend before being reopened again. He'd never noticed that before. Perhaps Legolas had hidden them, avoiding the taunts of the other boys. No Merimacu remembered. He always wore gloves to practice despite their restrictions, he had insisted.  
  
He realised now Legolas' efforts to gain acceptance. Merimacu knew he'd struggled against his body image, weak and smaller than the other children, and had on many times gone to great lengths to proove he was equal in skill to the others. Merimacu had never gave it a second thought before today. Legolas would have had to practice for many hours a day outside of lessons to get injuries like this.  
  
Merimacu left the child briefly to collect the scattered arrows from the field. Only one stuck in the board at the end of the field, and it was dead centre. He was amazed at how the young child could have such amazing skill in one arrow and then fail miserably in all the others. What was the trigger? He set that as his own personal goal, to find out what would set his skills in archery. He pulled the arrow shaft from the board and counted the bullseye holes, which didn't take long. Five in total, the little prince had only half reached his goal. But adding to the puzzle he noticed that there were no peircings out side of the bullseye. As though Legolas would deem the arrow to hit the bullseye or not to hit the board at all.  
  
Merimacu walked back to the boy and gently lifted him and his equiptment, leaving his own there for when he returned. Careful not to knock the boys hands, he carried him to his room and put him to bed, sweaty archery uniform and all.  
  
A many hours later Legolas was awoken by his mother who chided him good naturedly about sleeping past noon. 'Wake up sleepy' she said gently. 'You are lucky that stern old Merimacu has for some reason given you leave of your lesson for today, or you'd be late again'. Legolas, who was a little dazed from waking in his bed after falling asleep on the archery field, sat up and for a brief moment wondered with horror if his parents had found him there. He dismissed the thought knowing that if they did, they would have seen his fingers and taken him straight to the healing flet. He glanced over at his archery gear and noticed the way his arrows were arranged, with unerring perfection that could only mean one elf. Merimacu. That also explained why he had given him the day off. Legolas didn't want pity, least of all that of Merimacu. He was glad however that it seemed that he had not told his parents of this event.  
  
Lomelinde however did know. Merimacu had explained the situation to her and had asked her not to interfere with his efforts to find the boys trigger. Though it pained her to see her son hide away his feelings and hurts like this, she trusted Merimacu knew what he was doing and had given him permission to do so. She would play along with the ruse. That day she had planned a surprise for him, which she was eager to present.  
  
'Come Legolas, come to the stables. There is something I wish to show you' Legolas was intrigued and excited so despite his grogginess he hurried to change clothes and replace his gloves. He followed his mother down the stairs, struggling to keep up with her long strides.  
  
The unmistakable aroma of the stables tickled Legolas' nostrils long before they reached them. He could hear the faint nickers of the horse speech as they communicated to one another. Legolas could identify each by its voice, and it surprised him that he could hear a few unrecognisable horses in there though, for he was not aware that Mirkwood had received any visitors for a while.  
  
His mother opened the door and walked into the stables, Legolas close following. 'We were given five colts of the Rohirrim, to improove relations between our people. They are of the finest quality and bloodlines. They haven't yet been properly broken in but your father and I want you to have one. Your pick.' Legolas couldn't believe it. His very own horse. His brothers didn't get theirs until their teenage years. He stood proudly to pick his favourite.  
  
The new horses shied away from the intruders wary of their intent. They were small, as all baby animals tend to be, and seemed as though they were just seperated from their mothers. Their colours and built's varied. There was one tall powerful chestnut that Legolas could tell would grow up to be a warriors horse. The next was a grey speckled mare, that though was not afraid of Legolas, showed it was timid and complacent in comparison. 'Not at all a good horse for me' he thought. There was a light, almost white horse that had the build of a racer, Legolas could see himself with a fast horse, one that would bear him away from the palace, but he looked over the other horses any way.  
  
Lomelinde watched as her son's face wrinkled with serious concentration, and smiled. She knew she was doing the right thing. From the looks of Legolas she knew he needed a bit of gladness in his life. And perhaps it would cure his problem with his school mates. She longed to go to their parents and throw them in the dungeons for harming her son, but not only would that accomplish nothing, Legolas would probably get more teasing for it, for needing his naneth (mother) to protect him.  
  
Legolas looked towards the last two horses. One was a dark black horse, with a mean almost wild look in his eye that scared Legolas. It was no doubt related to the steeds that the ringwraiths had stolen from the Rohirrim. The last was a smallish sized auburn stallion, that outwardly showed nothing. It's muscles didn't twitch with apprehension nor did it's nose sniff with curiosity. As Legolas stared into his dark mahogany eyes he felt a connection that he had not felt before. It was hiding what it felt, just like Legolas did and immediately Legolas chose the horse as his own.  
  
His mother was surprised. She had expected him to choose the powerful chestnut or the white racer. And yet when she questioned him on his decision, he merely stated 'Naneth, I chose him because his colour reminds me of your hair'. A sweet sentiment though she knew that was not all. 'I don't know whether to take that as a compliment Legolas.. Comparing your mother and queen to the colour of the flank of your horse.' Legolas did not see through the jest and began to grow pink. Lomelinde laughed and said 'Do not worry Legolas, I know what you meant. Just don't expect the same compliment to work on any elf maidens you happen to be courting'.  
  
Legolas snorted a very unprince-like snort and replied indignantly 'Nay mother I think not. I would rather fight a Balrog with a fire poker than court any she elves' 'Of course Legolas. Though I am sure you will change your mind one day' Luckily Legolas had walked off and was to engrossed in getting to know his horse to hear what his mother had to say.  
  
The next day Merimacu asked Legolas if they could spend the best part of the day together, however Legolas had already made plans to go out with his mother and new horse, that he had yet to name. Thranduil bid that Merimacu should accompany them, and act as a guard as he could barely spare another warden for them. Of course Legolas was less than happy that his teacher would be tagging along on his picnic but his father gave him no choice.  
  
And so the party of three wandered lazily near the lake, each upon a steed. His mother rode the speckled gray Rohirrim horse as they were now part of the royal stables and needed to be broken in to the bare backed ways of the elves. Legolas rode his own, he sat straight backed and proud of his latest gift, while Merimacu trailed at the rear, atop the black 'nazgul' horse as Legolas had taken to calling it.  
  
The trees on this day, seemed to Legolas, too quiet. They seemed to always be in their way, moving their thick branches to prevent them going any further. Neither his mother nor teacher noticed though as they did not have the same senses as Legolas. He whipped his head around at the sound of an unnatural rustle in the trees but his keen elvish eyes did not see any thing. Although there was nothing directly alerting him to it, he felt that there was something watching the small party, and gaining on them. He sped up next to his mother and whispered 'Naneth, I think there's something following us'.  
  
Lomelinde at first thought her son was making fun, but when she looked into his scared yet focused eyes, her own senses reached out instantly. Yes Legolas was right, there was a shadow coming. And fast. She was glad her husband had forced herself and Legolas to be armed when they left the palace. Merimacu had insisted that Legolas bring his bow and arrows, and he had been dreading when Merimacu would have sprung a lesson on him. He would have to fail in front of his mother.  
  
His naneth signalled to Merimacu, who already had an arrow cocked and bow drawn. Legolas watched as his mother drew her own long knife, and followed suit, pulling his own miniature one from its sheath. The assailants made no effort to disguise their approach as they came from all sides, there could be no escape. Legolas sensed around twenty of them and guessed them to be orcs, though he'd never before seen one.  
  
The untrained horses shied nervously under their riders and, though two were of reasonably placid nature, began to bunch their muscles as if to rear.  
  
Legolas watched in horror as his naneth's horse did the inevitable and rose violently on its back legs and threw her to the ground. He screamed and though his horse did not do the same, it danced nervously, and he couldn't get it to aid his mother. His knife tumbled to the ground as he used both hands to pull hard on his mane and control his horse. Merimacu was having the same trouble as Lomelinde, however when his horse reared he was prepared and managed to stay on. He saw Legolas desperately try to reach his fallen mother and then he saw something else. A dark shadow wielding a crude bow in the woods behind them. 'Legolas!' he screamed in warning, but the soon revealed orc was not aiming at the child, and Legolas turned just in time to see one poison tipped arrow bury itself in his teachers stomach.  
  
With his mother barely conscious on the ground and Merimacu lying limp own his skittish nazgul horse, Legolas knew it was up to him to save them. In other words they were doomed. He whispered a few sindarin words of encouragement in the horses ear and pulled out his bow. It was better than nothing he thought to himself and, thinking only of protecting his mother he notched an arrow and began shooting at the dark shapes with such ferocity that he was blinded for the while. Nothing but primal instinct drove him as he sensed the hideous beasts unhonourable intent towards his fading mother. One after the other the boy fired, unknowing as to whether they were actually going anywhere near his enemy or falling uselessly to his feet. At last Legolas' onslaught was halted as he reached for another arrow and found none. He felt an over whelming wave of exhaustion as he fell to the forest floor. His hands crawled anxiously over the grass, seeking out his knife but found none, and the orcs ignored, for the moment, the flailing boy and moved to more desirable targets.  
  
He sensed the orcs closing in on his mother and heard her screams us they began to slowly brutalise her in front of the elflings weaponless form. In one last desperate attempt he hurled his custom made bow towards them with all his strength but from the laughing jeers that were returned it had done no harm. Again a wave of pain rushed over the small elf's frame and he looked down to see his own tunic covered in sticky crimson blood. His eyes teared as he fought unconsciousness and sent his mother thoughts of apologies. Again he had failed. His mother did not return any thoughts, as her screams were abruptly cut short.  
  
Legolas' last memories of that day were of the bird whistle of the Mirkwood guard and another whistle, that of their own deadly arrows flying through the forest canopy, as he closed his eyes and fell into the welcoming arms of unconsciousness. 


End file.
